


Something Wonderful

by Queen_ofSassgard



Category: Home Fires (UK TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Shell Shock, WWII, fill in, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 02:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_ofSassgard/pseuds/Queen_ofSassgard
Summary: A fillin for back in season one when Sarah found Adam at the War Memorial late at night.  What happenend when she woke up to find him gone? What happened after the scene cut?





	Something Wonderful

_This is a man who thinks with his heart_

_his heart is not always wise._

_This is a man who stumbles and falls_

_but this is a man who tries._

_This is a man you'll forgive and forgive_

_and help and protect as long as you live._

 

 

When you'd shared a bed with someone for over two decades you could sense them even in a dead sleep. Not much besides realizing her husband wasn't asleep beside her could jolt Sarah Collingborne awake. When a person expected to roll over and find a warm body flannel covered chest next to them a cold pillow was a poor substitute. Truthfully though, it wasn't altogether unexpected, over the years he had been called away in the middle of the night for one reason or another on occasion, but he'd always woken her up before he'd gone. Even if it was only for a kiss and to say he'd be back in a few hours.

 

Not that she ever slept that well when he was away. Most of the time she sat up and waited for him with a pot of tea. She might not have been the most devout member of his flock- her appearances at the church on Sundays were more or less because they were expected- but she _was_ his wife.

 

Someone had to worry about the vicar the way he did everyone else.

 

At least this time it looked as if he'd slept in the bed at least. She'd gone to bed first, he'd stayed up talking with one of the pilots for a while. She'd fallen asleep before he'd ever come up. Regardless of where he was, and why he'd gone she'd never get _back_ to sleep until she figured it out. “Adam?” she yawned sitting up in the bed. He couldn't have gotten that far. The house wasn't that big.

 

Nothing.

 

Had he gone back downstairs? She sat up and reached for her robe at the end of the bed. His was gone too. Downstairs it was. It wasn't cold enough to warrant getting a robe for just a trip to the WC.

 

“Adam?” she called softly again from the top stairs not wanting to wake the RAF boys asleep in the spare bedrooms. Anyone else she'd suspect was making a pot of tea. Not her husband. Adam Collingborne could not be trusted anywhere near a stove. His one and only attempt at cooking early on in their marriage had begun as a grand gesture to surprise her with breakfast in bed for an anniversary. It had ended not with soft-boiled eggs and toast but burnt the water and even more badly burnt bread. A memorable occasion maybe even if she'd had to make breakfast in the end.

 

Twenty years later she still wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to burn water.

 

Sarah pulled her robe more tightly around herself. During the day she'd have expected to have to go all the way down to the church to find him, but it was close to midnight by now. Surely he wouldn't have left the house.

 

She looked in his study. He wasn't there.

 

Or the water-closet.

 

Or the dinning room.

 

Or the kitchen.

 

Grown men didn't just up and disappear in the middle of the night, even if they were cross with their wife.

 

The pair of them rarely fought to begin with. Then again it was rare a sixty-one year old vicar decided he needed to go back to the war front and 'do his bit'. The last few days had been. . . tense to say the least- more so after their house guests went back to the base every morning. Sarah hadn't spoken to him more than absolutely necessary since that dreadful conversation over lunch a few days before. If Nick hadn't walked in she probably would have thrown that plate at the blasted man's head for even suggesting he go back into the army.

 

It wasn't just what he'd suggested but how he'd gone about it. Married two decades or not some topics were better left unspoken. They'd given up trying to start a family years go; the logical part of her mind had accepted that it was over a long time ago. As awful as it sounded she could have cared less about any of the boys on the front lines if it meant keeping him home. Adam was sixty-one for god's sake! Most of those boys fighting were half his age or younger. Young enough to be. . . their son. He didn't belong there. He belonged at home: with with his flock. . . with her as selfish as that sounded. The British Army had destroyed him once, they weren't about to get a second chance.

 

But where was he now?

 

Twenty years ago she'd have expected this. Twenty years ago this had happened on a twice weekly- if not more frequent- basis for months on end. Adam had hadn't a night terror in years. Even very time he'd had a night terror he'd woken her up at some point; he'd have woken the whole house up if he'd started screaming from a night terror. It couldn't be that.

 

The pair of wellies he kept by the side door were gone.

 

She hadn't noticed until she started back toward the staircase. Maybe he had gone to the church. He kept some of his books there in his office behind the alter. But why else would he go this late at night?

 

She wouldn't be gone long enough that she particularly worried about the house, there were a half dozen RAF pilots asleep upstairs. Robe and all Sarah slipped from her slippers into her own boots, and was out the side door. She wasn't about to get dressed at this time of night even if she had to go hunting for a missing husband. No one was up this late anyway, there'd be no one to see her in her robe and curlers.

 

A check around the garden wasn't unwarranted; walking down to the chapel wasn't something Sarah particularly wanted at to do at nearly midnight if she could avoid it. Adam's gardening abilities might have been second only to his cooking skills but he was as fond of the beds full of rose bushes they'd inherited from the previous vicar's wife as she was. With good reason he just wasn't allowed to do more than watch when she pottered about with the plants. Stress gardening he called it, and it wasn't too far from the truth. The roses hadn't looked as good as they did in months. Dead heading did wonderful things for a person when they were contemplating locking their husband in a closet until the war was over.

 

But of course he wasn't in the garden. That would have been too easy.

 

The walk wasn't all that far but it was eleven the military trucks racing around tiny county roads at all hours worried her more than anything. How exactly did a man manage to disappear in a village the size of Great Paxford at this time of night? There wasn't anywhere open to go into; even the pub had closed by now. Mid yawn Sarah rounded the corner to the road that lead down to the church.

 

There he was: at the war memorial.

 

She stopped short of the area illuminated by the street lamp surrounding the open square and stone pillar just in case he turned around. For the vicar to be praying wasn't exactly odd but at this time of night? More importantly in the middle of the village now?

 

Once upon a time most of the village stopped on a near daily basis for a moment or two at least but Adam hadn't done so in years except on the anniversary of the dedication or the end of the war or, but everyone did that. No one really stopped much anymore except for Allison or one of the other war widows after church on Sundays. It was an important part of the village just not something everyone thought of every day anymore. Despite that awful conversation they'd had the idea of him coming to the memorial had never crossed her mind. He was too old to go back to war.

 

The two of them had met just before he'd been shipped off the last time, and she'd been petrified of losing him. Even chaplains weren't bulletproof though they were “officially” supposed to be safe from harm. Sarah wasn't sure she could do that again. He'd come home last time in one piece physically anyway. Mentally he wasn't the same man she'd met months before. It taken years to get the handle on his night terrors. She couldn't count the number of times he'd woken her up from a dead sleep screaming and raving about the Germans trying to kill everyone. Years and countless appositeness with Will had managed to calm the dreams and the raving he was prone to at night.

 

“What are you doing out here?” she called to him softly from the darkness when he lifted his head. “You should be in bed.”

 

He whipped around at the sound of her voice. “I thought you were asleep.”

 

“I could say you the same thing, but I turned over to find a cold pillow instead of my husband.”

 

“I couldn't sleep, I didn't want you wake you. There's no reason the both of us should be up unless we couldn't help it.”

 

“So you come halfway into the village in the middle of the night instead of getting a brandy or reading a book?” She didn't want to start yet another fight but this didn't make any sense. In the week since he'd announced his intentions to join the army again they'd done nothing but fight. “At home.”

 

“Don't make it sound like that. I hardly ran away.”

 

“What exactly would you call leaving in the middle of the night?”

 

Acting as Frances' keeper wasn't the easiest thing in the world, Adam didn't envy his wife one bit. The whole situation had only gotten worse since the ever so slightly hostile takeover from Mrs. Cameron. He'd never begrudge his wife her time with her sister, or with the WI for that matter but she _had_ to sleep sometime. “I didn't want to wake you.” he sighed. “You've hardly been sleeping, Sarah.”

 

“That doesn't mean you should leave in the middle of the night without telling me.” She was starting to sound like her sister. . . Frances had a flair for the dramatic she never had. Then again she was always the one trying to reign in her sister's dramatic side there was never much time for her to have one.

 

“I didn't go that far now did I?”

 

“That's not the point. Upset with you or not when your wife turns over in bed and you're not there. . .”

 

He didn't let her finish the thought, “I wouldn't really leave without telling you. You know that.”

 

“You made up your mind to go without telling me.”

 

“I have to do _something_ I can't just stay here and do nothing, Sarah. They need me.”

 

“I'm not having this fight with you again.” She wouldn't. The facts were plain as far as Sarah was concerned. His place was here. His place was with her, and his flock. The British Army would have to find chaplains all over again just as they had the last time, they'd do it without him. “ _We_ need you here. The whole hoard of boys signing up or getting called up to go. They took you once already. . . it's not your turn this time.”

 

“I came back last time didn't I?” he pointed out. They'd not had much of a choice when he'd gone back last time. The war had been just months from ending when he'd seen her for the first time, falling in love while on leave had never been in the plans for Adam but it had happened anyway.

 

The idea of her sixty year old husband anywhere near the Nazi hoard petrified Sarah. “Hardly in one piece. And that was twenty years ago I might add.” Germany had had two decades to think up better ways to kill people this time around. What woman would willingly let her husband go to face such a fate? The boys who had to go were one thing. . . this was an entirely different story. He was a vicar, and too old to boot. “I need you here.” He was supposed to be safe.

 

“We don't even know if they'll take me yet.” Breaking the topic with her had seemed like a better idea than going straight to the recruiting office. He hadn't expected her to take it quite this badly, but Adam hadn't expected her to be ecstatic about the idea. “You might agree with them more than you think, I might be too old.”

 

One could only hope.

 

“ _If_ they take me, I will come home in one piece.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I'll write every night.”

 

She buried her head in his chest. “If they take you.” Bribing the recruiting officer wasn't illegal was it? It wasn't as if she'd be interfering with one of the boys they inevitably going to draft. He wasn't on the 'to be taken' list anyway. “And if he says no you're staying home with me until the Germans invade or we win. I really don't care which.”

 

 

 


End file.
